Attache Case - The First Line IP

‘I always feel better both when I’m here and after I’ve been here.’

I awoke in the middle of the night with those words stirring in my head. As usual, in such cases, I reached for the pen and paper I kept handy on my nightstand. But they weren’t in their usual spot. Switching on the light I found that I no longer seemed to be in my usual spot, either.
I was home again. My boyhood home, that is. In my old bedroom. The first thing that struck me was the Raquel Welch poster I had taped to the wall directly opposite the foot of my bed.

Raquel Welch posing in a fur bikini. It was a still from the movie One Million Years BC. It was I966. I was twelve years old. Not quite old enough to be doing what I would be doing much of the time a couple of years down the road. But I know it stirred something inside me. A poster didn’t make the grade on a child’s bedroom wall unless it really meant something. And Raquel meant a lot.

She was the first thing I’d see in the morning, and the last thing I’d see at night. She was the holy grail of posters at the time.

Whatever state of mind caused this journey back home, I didn’t mind it at all. Because it felt like a home-sick-from-school-day. One of the best kinds. Confined to bed with the flu. And loving every miserable moment of it.

My suspicions proved correct when I spotted the food tray sitting atop my old toy box. It was covered over with a large cloth gingham napkin. I even knew what would be under that napkin: A bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, half a dozen Saltine crackers, smeared with butter, and a glass of ginger ale to wash down all that wholesome goodness.

I knelt at the toy box and lifted the napkin. The soup was still warm, and the ginger ale just cold enough to soothe a sore throat.

I polished off the recovery food and placed the tray on the floor. Opening the toy box, I was overwhelmed with joy. There, on top of the pile of Lincoln logs, train tracks, and Leggo droppings sat my James Bond 007 attache case. The best Christmas present of my boyhood. That was 1965, the year of Thunderball. The fourth Bond movie with Sean Connery.

It was a must-have toy. And I’ll tell you why. First of all there was the secret safety lock to keep out the nosey. Then there was the dagger. It sprang out at the push of a button. Then retracted after you’d taken down an enemy or two. And it even had a pistol with a screw-on silencer. Let me repeat that. A Screw-on silencer! Shoot your enemies in peace. It was the only way to go.

Then there were the business cards, money and passport. For those unexpected trips out of town after you’ve been found out by the KGB. The attache case was so popular that year that most kids in my class, including myself, had actual attache cases instead of the common book bags. Little runt businessmen, marching off to school, toting serious leather goods. Hysterical.

‘Good day, Mom. I’ve got that Mayflower Compact deal I have to work on. I’ll call if I’m going to be late for dinner. Did you remember to pack my Ring Dings?'

I then wake with a start. The damn alarm clock. But this time, it’s in real time. I’m in my own bed. The grownup one.

Then I did what anyone would have done in a similar situation. I flipped open my laptop and went directly to Ebay, to see how rich I would have been had my family only had the good sense to know a family heirloom when they had one.

But the heirloom was not to be. The case ended up on the garbage heap, no doubt. And I can't remember the who, why or where of it. I only know it went missing at some point.

Then I cried as my search engine screamed out it's eventual worth.

“I could have gone to Vegas with that kind of money,” I said to Raquel.

Yes, I still had the poster.

And I don’t believe, had I still been in possession, that I would have sold the case for anything.

You never knew when the Russians would be coming.

I would have been ready.